1.01 Tears in Heaven

[Madeline Merri]

Hey there - I've decided that the time has come to buy into the Hollywood business. 'The Reboot' is a popular thing right now when it comes to ancient franchises and properties that have grown into monstrous abominations from what it was originally intended to be. A lot of what I've written lately I'm not happy with, so I deleted it in the hopes that I can start fresh again. A long time ago - I had the idea to write a story, and provide the essential elements of what it would take to build an army from it. First and foremost - it starts with Warhammer Quest characters, build up to a Mordheim/Skirmish Warband, then a regiment. Make my own Regiment of Renown - like days past.

So without further ado - I'm here to start things over, and I hope that all the fine writers and minds that populate this website can help smooth the rough, and sharpen the dull. It takes a village, and I can't think of any other group of people I've spent a lot of time discussing important and not important things in order to sharpen my craft. Criticism is demanded, unsympathetic and raw.

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The streets of Siegfriedhof blew cold in the late autumn. There was a wind that would sweep refuse clear from the cobbled streets. It was as if the ancient engineers designed the city to use the currents of the Stir's gusts to relieve the need for a city staff. The rotting leaves, hay and soiled paper curled and settled into the darker alleys and corners of the streets. There was a simple comfort to this, at least for the huddled lump of stained and ripped clothing. In years past, the clothes would have formed a festive dress, cut in Sylvanian style and fashion. One might have seen this particular garment worn on a woman, twirling and dancing between the tables at a drinking house, bobbing and weaving through the crowds of people to music. Those sights were only two years ago, but two years is long enough for velvet and lace to yellow and fade. What is underneath is a hollow figure of what used to wear it.

She hugs her knees to her chest, a hand holding a violin to rest on her big toes, putting it on display. She sits like this to show that she is at heart, a musician. In the back of her mind, she also shows the violin in the off chance that someone will offer to buy it from her. Anything that would give her another handful of coppers to fill her stomach. It had been nearly two weeks in the city, the generosity of the people offering up only the odd scrap of burned bread. There was a man working at a restaurant that had stared her bold in the face as he disposed of unused food, only to slide his codpiece aside to relieve himself on top of the food. Dignity still kept her from going after that food when the man closed the door. There was little pity in Stirland for any raven-haired Sylvanian. They were still cursed in the eyes of any Imperial citizen, and never were truly accepted into the union with Stirland.

I wonder how Sebastian is doing.

The thought crossed her mind. They had spent the first week together, huddled in the same manner, hoping to find work as a pair of musicians. As the time passed - the desperation set in and decided they could advertise their availability if they were to split up, and each take a side of the city. Sebastian was a wonderful singer, a charming man that in the smaller taverns in Sylvania. But here he found the people unreceptive. Jokes fell unsmilingly, and worse yet, he had caught a sickness in the throat that caused his voice to waver and deep. She had to be convinced thoroughly that he would be alright to handle the chill on his own. She left him with her blanket for the colder nights, she never had a problem dealing with the cold stone beneath her.

The street lamps flickered, the flames pulled with another hard gust. There were more than a few people walking the streets. With the harvesting and most of the preparations for the winter done, every night was made happier with ale and wine flowing freely. It would only be an hour or two before the streets would be filled with slurred lyrics and the smell of fresh food and roasted meat. To her, the smell was enough to tide her over for another night. The thought brightened up the corners of her mouth in a smile. She opened the nook between chin and shoulder, and slipped the chinrest in comfortably. Her fingers were stiffened by the cold, but with a soft puff into a fist and some flexing, her fingers found the neck and strings easily enough, just as the bow found a comfortable cradle above the waist of the finely crafted instrument.

The notes rolled across the street like a surge of warm water. There was a richness to the violin, passed from generation to generation. She remembered her grandfather wept to see his only grandchild born a girl. He was of the belief they could not handle the vigor and the passion that a fiddle-player must bring forth. This though crossed her mind every single time her bow met string, it drew that grin brighter, but it melted away as the song continued. It was hard not to play mournful songs, circumstances considered, but there was a fiery note to the song. It was one of her favorites about a young soldier far from home, expected to bleed and die. She loved the song because the man found joys every day, knowing that soon he would find a wooden box to rest his weary bones in. Her eyes drifted to close as the swell and vibrations of that old piece of wood bled into her chest. Surrounded by music, she didn't even hear the man approach, hard cobbled shoes clacking on the stones.

He was a short, portly man, who looked barely able to afford what clothes he had on his back. Wrapped in front of him was an apron, torn and ragged at the cords, stained brown with blood that could not be washed clean. Every part of him was desperate, the oily complexion, the greasy hair that hadn't had a moment to be cleaned or even combed in more than a few days. He stood there and listened to this sound drifting through the streets. It had pulled him close by. Though he was desperate to talk to her, the song bade him stay and wait till it was finished. It was hard for the old man to handle - the song was one he used to play himself as a child.

When the song ended, the girl sighed as her eyes opened. Startled initially, her fiery green eyes looked up at the man. His expression wore nostalgia like the finest makeup. Despite his outward shortcomings, there was a warmth that he offered up to her freely. With a short motion of her hand, she took a small crumpled leather bag and opened it, holding it out to him, eyes silently pleading for any scrap of food or offer of money. The old man's heart broke at the sight of her earnest expression. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes which he wiped away as unassumingly as he could, hand stroking his temple and cheek in thought. When he spoke, his dry and wheezy voice rang with an accent of Sylvania.

"Dear girl, where did you learn this?" He put his hands on his knees, leaning down to inspect her violin.
"Nachthafen, I was born there." She set the violin in her lap, crossing her legs to sit womanly.

The man looked backwards, and down the street. There was an urgency to his motions - an urgency that never quite formed to words, but she could easily detect something.

"Is there anything else I could play for you? I know all the old folk tunes, and some of the Stirlander songs should you like them."
"Miss, I would have you play nothing but old Sylvanian if you would help me for the evening."
"How?" Instantly the months of hunger disappeared as she stood. She was tall, but thin as a rail. Her dress his most of this urchin-like exterior, thankfully, and with the motion of dancing, none would be the wiser that she was any different to the plump and buxom barmaids of the city.
"My name is Mannfred, and my man, Anton, he is late coming home from the market with the foodstuffs to keep our inn going. We have not had much luck with the customers and patrons of our inn, if we do not have food to please the customers, we have no coppers to pay for our drinks or the fees for the building. This will be our last night." He slicked back his thinning, gray hair to his head, his hand taking the oil from it to sharpen the points on his moustache.
"I do not know what you expect of me, I cannot help you find a slice of bread, let alone food for a full Inn. Sir, I-"
"-I need you to keep the smiles on their faces. We have plenty of wine and ale left, but we need songs and music to keep them there for only a little longer. Anton will come back with our foodstuffs and all will be well, hopefully shortly. Please, if the night works out we can pay you more than what is fair, and if not - you may eat whatever you wish when Anton finally does come."

The energy filled the girl's body with a warmth. Her smile broke wide and bright through the darkness of the alleyway. She offered her hand to the man in a shake of agreement, but he swiftly pulled her up to her feet, and began to lead her down the street. In an instant, she almost forgot about Sebastian.
"Wait! I have another who I need. He is a singer, Sebastian, he is the one who taught me all I know! Could he come as well?"
"If he is as good a performer, he will have the same deal as yourself, but hurry, we are in the Cloak and Dagger, end of the row!"
"I'll fetch him and be back as swiftly as I can!" Her words hit him in the back of the head, he was already hustling his way down the street, which was quickly becoming filled with the night's patrons looking to relax and enjoy the city. She spun on her heel and trotted down to the main pass. Sebastian was going to be near the docks, looking perhaps to pay for passage on a boat with musical services. Her bare feet slapped the stones hard as she rounded each corner, barely containing a laugh. A familiar sight caught her eye as she reached the fishmonger's. They had found a burned out shack in the alleyway behind, perfect for the two of them to hide from the elements if but for a short while.

It was dark, and he was in the corner, huddled beneath the blanket as she trotted in. She roused him, laughing as she gave him a shake. "Sebastian! Come, we have work! There is a Sylvanian tavern near where I was, and they need us!" Her hands clutched at his shoulders, his head bobbing as if in some deep sleep. She continued like this for a few more seconds until she realized his head was falling limp to the side at an uncomfortable angle. "Sebastian?" She adjusted and turned him to sit against a wall. His face was peaceful, as if asleep. There was no lingering scent of booze on his breath, it was then that she realized there was no breath at all as she leaned in to let her ear listen for an exhale. She fell back from her haunches, resting exactly as he was. She stared at him like this for a while, her hand coming up to cover her mouth from letting her say the words she knew. Her lip began to quiver as her eyes rimmed with tears. After a while she gathered herself up, and leaned in to Sebastian, taking the blanket to wrap it around him comfortingly, the soft wool snugly fitting around his neck. She wanted to stay there like that, but the hunger in her stomach, the need to continue on for the next day pulled her towards the door on hands and knees as she reached towards a puddle. With a splash of dingy water, she rubbed her tears and face as clean as she could before grabbing her violin, and scrambled back out into the streets.

The tavern was full of drunks when she arrived. There was no food to soak up the large amounts of booze in their stomachs, but they seemed happy enough. The girl walked through the crowd, her bow and violin held limply at the end of her dangling arms. There was little grace in her motions, but she still made her way through to the bar where Mannfred seemed heavily relieved to see his musician come, and somewhat cleaned up. He ran to a small corner of the room beside the fireplace, and stood on an emptied crate of wine, raising himself above the height of an average man. With a dry holler, he broke the random laughter and clamour of the place to bring attention.

"Ladies and Gentleman, the Cloak and Dagger is always proud to have it's rooms and halls filled with the sounds of old Sylvania, fate would have it that one such act is coming through the city this very night!" The girl strode and stood beside the innkeeper, doing her best to compose herself. "So please, we graciously invite you to listen to.." He leaned his ear down to the girl to catch her name. "Madeline."
"And?.."
"Just Madeline." She looked at him with a seriousness that he caught onto instantly. He tilted back upright to regard the crowd.
"Madeline from Nachthafen!"

She stood beside the fire. It was the first time in weeks where she was near a fire that wouldn't smoke for the paper inside of it or the greased, burning blanks of a broken old home. She bathed in the warmth and closed her eyes to bring her violin up to play. The crowd out before her was still rowdy, but heads turned towards her, placing steins and mugs onto the tables and knees to listen. The bow struck the string smoothly and evenly, though her hands were still shaking. What came out could not be mistaken, this was the first time she had a problem playing for the crowd. The mournful tones of an old funeral dirge crept into every single stroke on the string. Time and again she fought to bring the mood out, to lift the spirits up. As the song went on, the notes and tune found it's footing as the crowd began to swell and feel joy from it. Mannfred seemed happy that she found a bright and nostalgic tune to appease the crowds. They must have not heard the lyrics, but the chipper and pretty tune carried through the

Love of mine some day you will die,
But I'll be close behind,
I'll follow you into the dark.

No blinding light or tunnels to gates of white,
Just our hands clasped so tight,
Waiting for the hint of a spark.
If Heaven and Hell decide,
That they both are satisfied,
Illuminate the 'NO's on their vacancy signs,

If there's no one beside you,
When your soul embarks,
Then I'll follow you into the dark.

In boarding school as vicious as Khanish rule,
I got my knuckles bruised by a lady in black,
And I held my tongue as she told me,
"Child, fear is the heart of love",
So I never went back.

If Heaven and Hell decide,
That they both are satisfied,
Illuminate the 'NO's on their vacancy signs.

If there's no one beside you,
When your soul embarks,
Then I'll follow you into the dark.

You and me have seen everything to see
From Weijin to Araby.
And the soles of your shoes are all worn down,
The time for sleep is now.
It's nothing to cry about,
'cause we'll hold each other soon,
In the blackest of rooms.

If Heaven and Hell decide,
That they both are satisfied,
Illuminate the NO's on their vacancy signs.

If there's no one beside you,
When your soul embarks,
Then I'll follow you into the dark.
Then I'll follow you into the dark.

'If they only knew what the song was about.' He thought. The tears began to roll down Madeline's cheeks as she closed her eyes to hold the rest back, lips quivering as she did her best to hold a showman's smile for the crowd.

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EDIT: Yeah - I added a little bit. I write to music more often than not. The piece has been adjusted to fit into the Warhammer World. A shiny nickel to the first person to guess it. I'm not sure what influenced it, but I enjoy montage scenes in my favorite television shows. Sometimes the right choice of a song can affect how you see a situation. To me - the song always reminds me of a joyous passing. I think it fit quite nicely.

[Si'anelle of Avelorn]

Ah, you paint goodly pictures with words

Only sometimes there are small pieces that don't quite scan or words used that make me wonder if they are typos, BUT despite that your storytelling has the strength and craft to shine through undiminished.